Forget the steps already trod,
And onward urge thy way.
3 ’Tis God’s all-animating voice
That calls thee from on high;
’Tis His own hand presents the prize
To thine aspiring eye;—
4 That prize with peerless glories bright,
Which shall new lustre boast,
When victors’ wreaths and monarchs’ gems
Shall blend in common dust.